


Two Ways

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: AoS Promptober 2019 [18]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Post Season Six, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-13 17:10:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21183788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: Jemma and Fitz visit the graveyard at night, to say goodbye.  (Written for Promptober Day 12: Exploring a graveyard at night)





	Two Ways

The place is nice. It’s between two big oak trees, surrounded by wildflowers. It’s silent and peaceful.

Fitz likes it.

He and Jemma came to the graveyard in the middle of the night.

Fitz feels vaguely reminded of how they explored a graveyard at night after a party at the Boiler Room once. Susan and Jemma had a bit too much beer and finally convinced Milton and Fitz to play hide and seek. Fitz didn’t like the graveyard, with the thick plumes of fog floating between the rows of tombstones and the heavy somber silence that reminded him of the silent moments in horror movies which almost every time announce that something horrible is going to happen. When she discovered him, Jemma jumped out of the bushes with a loud “Boo!” and Fitz was sure his heart faltered a beat. He told her that wasn’t funny, and Jemma giggled. When she suddenly got a hiccup, Fitz had to chuckle too despite his anger.

There’s no laughter now.

_It’s surreal_, Fitz thinks. _Us, standing here. In front of my … his grave_. It’s strange to think of himself as someone else, but he had to learn to get used to it. Jemma is always speaking of “him” when she means the Fitz who made it to the future and back again, only to die buried in a pile of rubbles. 

_I never had much luck_, Fitz thinks soberly and shivers involuntarily, shoving his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket.

The pale moonlight is barely enough to read the curved letters on the marble tombstone.

_Leopold James Fitz. Beloved husband and friend. _

He shivers again.

Jemma is watching him anxiously. She was astonished when Fitz asked what happened with the body. When he wanted to see the grave. But she agreed to show him, her eyes filled with the same kind of distant but persistent pain they are showing right now. “I needed a place,” she says quietly. “I needed … I came here to talk. It helped. When I could talk to nobody else, I could talk to … him. I sat here for hours sometimes. It hurt so much. But ... It helped me, to ... to process things."

Fitz just nods. His throat feels tight. He doesn’t want to, but can’t help imagining Jemma, sitting in front of the grave, crying. So much pain … He starts to feel guilty again, for not being there and then he feels angry at himself for bloody _dying_. But he quickly shoves that away. It’s no use. It happened and they can’t change the past. If there was a way, he thinks, he would probably do it.

He would give Jemma back what she’s missing and would take care she doesn’t have to live with the echo of the pain.

It isn’t what she deserves.

When Fitz pries his gaze away from the grave and the single white flower laying there, looking fresh like it was only left yesterday, he sees she’s crying. A tear drips from her chin.

Fitz once again realizes how much she’s still mourning. It’s hurting him because he knows he can’t do anything to take that away from her. Even if he’s here now, the Fitz who died was read. His death was real. All the pain is real. He can’t take it away. He can only be there to help her through it. When he first realized this truth, he wanted to yell at the universe. He felt the baggage of the unfairness of this laying heavy on his shoulders, almost crushing him. But now, he only feels tired and wants to go home.

When he lays his arm around Jemma, she sniffs and leans against him. “Sorry,” she whispers.

Fitz shakes his head. “Take all the time you need. I’m here.”

She nods and exhales a sigh. For a few minutes, they’re just standing there in front of the grave. Somewhere, an owl calls out hollowly.

Finally, Jemma lays her hand on the tombstone and whispers a goodbye. Then, she reaches for Fitz’s hand. “Let’s go home,” she says. 

“Yes. Home,” he repeats, squeezing her hand softly. Because he’s not just a replacement. Not just the second choice. Even if it sometimes feels like this, it’s not true. After all, he’s sharing almost everything with the Fitz who lost his life. At some point, their ways parted in a strange way and one of them didn’t made it to the end of the path. 

_I won’t forget_, Fitz promises in silence and throws a last look back to the tombstone. _I won’t forget_. _I will live this life for both of us._

They walk back in silence, their fingers tightly intertwined.


End file.
